Any Friend of Yours is Hardly a Friend of Mine
by YetAnotherAnimeFreak
Summary: Also known as "Best Friend's Brother". Sherlock is a student at college living temporarily with his brother in an apartment in London. When Mycroft gets a new friend, John, Sherlock is intrigued. But what is it about John that makes him so interesting? Surely Sherlock doesn't feel something for his brother's best friend... ((Formatting glitch fixed))


"I'm going out for drinks."

Sherlock looked up from his laptop, having tucked himself into the corner of the room that he had designated as his thinking space. Mycroft stood before him, looking proud of his newly-graduated self and dressed in a suit. It wasn't uncommon to see Mycroft in suits nowadays. Gone were the times of oversized sweatshirts and hoodies as a result of college pressure, along with the long, unruly hair that Sherlock was still known for sporting. It was near impossible to see the family resemblance with their new differences.

"Drinks? How mature. Are you going to attend a dinner party while you're at it?"

Mycroft frowned, lightly hitting Sherlock on the side of his head with his umbrella. The younger glared at his brother and rubbed his head, closing the laptop screen. "No, I am simply going to the pub with a few friends. Seeing how you have recently come of drinking age, I thought you might want to accompany me."

Sherlock scoffed, crossing his arms and looking away. "Flattered that you would think of me, Mycroft, but I have no desire to partake in the indulgence of alcohol. Much less with you."

Mycroft only smiled his normal, evil smile and walked to the door, coat in hand. "You sure? A few guys from the Yard will be there. Lestrade, Donovan… And a new friend I recently met. He's about your age."

"If you're trying to set me up, I can assure you it will only end with me walking out after charging your tab with a house of drinks." Sherlock had opened his computer again, feigning disinterest even if he was mildly curious about who Mycroft would try and set him up with. The man hardly even acknowledged that he had a younger brother, much less ever wanted to take a part in his love life and set him up with his friends. It was odd, to say in the least. "Besides, any friend of yours is hardly a friend of mine."

Mycroft sighed, walking out the door with a parting remark. "I'll give Watson your regards, then…"

And that was the end of it.

That was the first time John's name was mentioned between them, although it certainly would not be the last.

How could it have turned out like this?

Sherlock looked over to the passenger seat of his car, having already turned off the engine and plunging the pair into near silence. A pair of light blue eyes stared back at him, not even wavering at being caught staring. Rain drops fell heavily on the roof of the car, and created wavelike patterns on the elder's face as the streetlamps shone through the dashboard. The faint light added a type of mystery to the air between them, tingling with all the words left unsaid that were just a hand's breadth out of reach for understanding. Sherlock knew the chemistry of love. He knew the physical reactions, the irrational thoughts, the attributes of a mind infatuated with another being. But he had no idea it was so… suffocating. He could barely breathe, his chest tight with everything he wanted to say but couldn't. Especially not with John's eyes on him. How could he think when those cerulean eyes were burning straight down into his soul, unraveling the web of protections he had been carefully putting into place all of his life. Then again, how could he ever not concentrate with him there? Sherlock thought better when John was next to him, looking at him, occasionally touching him. It was an unusual combination of seeing everything clearly, but not being able to relate it to anything or one.

John's throat moved. He had swallowed. Sherlock watched the movement, transfixed. He knew everything that made people fall in love, but being in the middle of the reaction himself was different. He never knew it was this intense. The heart rate increasing, the heat rising to his face, his pupils dilating… Sherlock saw his reactions reflected in John, who seemed to have trouble deciding to stare at his eyes or at his lips. Not that Sherlock minded. But what was going to happen now? Were they going to step over this line?

John moved closer, and Sherlock did as well, placing a coy hand lightly on the other's thigh. John sighed through his nose, and Sherlock had his answer.

[7 months earlier]

"No Mycroft, I'm not taking part!"

"If you aren't taking part, then leave the room. It's that simple."

"You know very well why I'm here. My room is for sleeping, not thinking, that's what my desk is for. And currently I am in need of my desk. I think you should be the one to leave."

"We are already set up, and we can't have you in here all the time."

"For god's sake, Mycroft, just let the boy stay. It's not like he talks anyway."

"If he stays, no doubt he will find a reason to!"

Sherlock groaned and turned in a circle in his swivel chair, hands pressing over his face. His little corner had evolved into a working desk, where his uni assignments were spread out in a seemingly disorganized pattern around his gently humming computer. Mycroft, Lestrade, and Donovan all sat in a semicircle on the floor. Sherlock's older brother had his eyes fixed on Lestrade before groaning himself and resting his forehead in his palm. Victorious with coming up with the winning decision, Lestrade sat up straight, accidentally making his knee brush against Mycroft's and causing them both to flush just slightly. Donovan hadn't even been active in the conversation, having grown bored of deciding where Sherlock would have to go, but perked up a little at the last part.

"You aren't seriously letting him stay, are you?"

Lestrade shot her a look, shuffling the cards that had been lying at the center of their circle. "Of course I am, it's his house as much as it is Mycroft's. Besides, you know that if we send him out he's only coming back."

Donovan crossed her arms in frustration, but said nothing more, leaving Sherlock to smirk at the other three. No one really noticed him though, which he supposed was a good thing for the moment. He never really minded not being noticed by Mycroft's friends, except when he was helping with cases for Lestrade and the Yard. It was then that he rather hated being ignored. At least now Mycroft was busy enough not to accompany him whenever Sherlock took a case. (Which he had only done before because Sherlock was so young, certainly not because of a certain detective inspector.)

"Say, where's John and Anderson? They're supposed to be here." Lestrade asked Mycroft, making him check his watch.

"John?" Sherlock asked, but everyone ignored him.

"They should be here soon. They said they were running late."

"Who's John?" Sherlock asked, louder this time. Still no one paid him attention, and shortly he went back to writing on his computer, the back of his mind trying to work out who this newcomer could be.

As predicted, within a few minutes someone was knocking at the door a few rooms away. No one moved, which caused Sherlock to raise an eyebrow, but it seemed the person outside got the hint and simply came in anyway.

"Mycroft?" An unfamiliar voice called out. The sound of shuffling boots echoed through the hallways

"Here." Mycroft called back, taking the cards Lestrade gave him and waiting. The door to the sitting area was opened shortly, revealing a wet-haired man, accompanied by a slightly damp Anderson. This must have been the "John" they were referring to…

John had dark blonde hair, though it was probably a sandy colour when it was dry, and wore a jumper with an interesting design of green and blue all over it. The shirt was dry, which meant the John had probably worn a jacket here to protect against the London rain that was pouring outside. Although, judging by the state of his head, Anderson must have been the one knocking and had left John in the rain since the small overhang of roofing could only shield one. Sherlock went into full deducing mode, not even noticing that Mycroft was looking up at him and smirking. John was planning to go into the military, studying to be a doctor (probably physician, not a science), and had at least one sibling. He was studying at the same college Sherlock went to, just a year ahead of him, and had a habit of shaking his hand when he was nervous. No… not nervous. Had a habit of shaking his hand when he was bored. Yes, that was more like it. And he didn't own a car, either, since Anderson had driven them here. (Which may have not seemed an important detail to Sherlock then, but it would be within the next few months.)

"Sorry we're late. It was my fault." John smiled at his three friends sitting on the floor, moving over to them with a quick glance at Sherlock, then a longer look as if he hadn't even noticed he was there the first time. The man seemed friendly though, as he gave the younger a kind smile.

"John apparently remembered that he had left every appliance in his kitchen on when we were halfway here." Anderson remarked, an innocent smile on his face that looked more like an idiotic smirk to Sherlock. The detective sat down next to Donovan, not so secretly resting a hand on her thigh.

"Just the stove…" Sherlock mumbled under his breath, though no one really seemed to hear him.

"It's alright John." Mycroft held John's cards up to him, as if telling him to sit down and play instead of going to make introductions with the other Holmes. "Sorry, but my brother Sherlock is going to sit in with us until his work is done. I hope this is alright."

"Um, yeah, that's fine…" John looked back over to Sherlock, causing the student to blush and look back down at his laptop. Strange… he had never felt nervous looking at someone before. And he most certainly had never blushed before. He had never even had trouble looking at people he had found a brief interest in, which made this even more curious. Perhaps this was some sort of allergic reaction. While Sherlock was trying to sort out exactly had just happened to him, Mycroft launched into the shortest introduction known in history.

"John, Sherlock. He's my brother and studying at the same college you are. Sherlock, John Watson. I take it you already know everything you need to from him, if I can even call you my brother."

Sherlock nodded agreement and a small greeting, remembering the surname from a few weeks previous.

John hesitated and nodded in return, obviously conflicted over how to feel that there were now two people who knew everything about him just from appearance.

Luckily, Mycroft had already moved on, pulling John away from looking at his younger brother. "Your turn."

That was Sherlock and John's first meeting. Although Sherlock had planned on just finishing his work and leaving, now that John had joined the group he had something interesting to do. There were things to learn about this newcomer, and Sherlock found that he took an interest in finding out these little facts. He also acted differently than the rest of Mycroft's friends, which added a sense of accomplishment in annoying them to no end. So, the younger started to pitch sarcastic remarks into the conversation more often, asking relentlessly why they were playing children's card games like Hearts or War, or continuously calling out exactly when Anderson was bluffing, until Mycroft threw him out.

This happened a lot throughout the next two months, and eventually Sherlock ran out of excuses to be in the same room as the others. Still, he kept coming. He would die before admitting that he liked seeing John laugh at jokes he made, or how he was never really against Sherlock being in the same room as the rest of them, or simply how concentrated he was on a game, but what would be worse than dying would be staying away from John because of his hidden feelings. Often he would sit on his knees behind Mycroft, resting his elbows on his shoulders and his chin on the top of his head like a child. From there he would watch the game, sometimes pitching in remarks about what people were playing or what cards Mycroft happened to be holding. He got a perfect view of John from there, plus it drove Mycroft insane to no end. Altogether, it was a winning situation.

Mycroft had once asked Sherlock why he felt the need to be around he and his friends all the time, but the younger had brushed him off.

"Honestly, go find your own friends. What happened to that "other people are idiots" thing?"

"They may be, but I find it amusing to annoy you and your friends."

Mycroft had, of course, asked a plethora of questions after that, but Sherlock found he didn't want to answer any of them, so he picked up his violin and began to play. Mycroft was gone within the minute.

A month passed and Christmas was quickly approaching, leading to the logical question among the Holmes brothers. Neither had ever really liked parties all that much, but this year Mycroft felt like hosting a gathering would be good for his social standing, so there was yet another area of conflict for the two as the year slowly started to draw to a close.

"Christmas is a stupid holiday to celebrate, Mycroft, especially when we are not religious." Sherlock protested, trying to pack Christmas decorations back into boxes while Mycroft was unpacking at the same speed.

"It is not a matter of religion, but of bringing people together. And you always seemed excited about it when you were younger. I'll never forget the first year you got a microscope and were so excited that you dropped it and broke all the slides. Couldn't even use the damn thing for three months until you saved enough to buy new ones."

"Please don't bring that up, that was a long time ago. Christmas lost its luster long ago, when I started taking jobs at the Yard. You know how much better those can be than presents."

Mycroft scoffed, dumping the contents of a box out before closing it, making sure that Sherlock wouldn't be able to fill it back up by tossing it out of the room.

"Even if you are no longer happy about the approaching holidays, many other people are. I'm throwing this party whether you are going to be in attendance or not."

Sherlock groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes before his shoulders slumped. It was pointless arguing with Mycroft anymore. He had the pull to do practically anything he wanted, as long as he stayed out of Sherlock's room. So there really wasn't any discussion to be had at all. Still, that didn't stop Sherlock from ripping down tinsel and ornaments as they were hung simply to see the death glare Mycroft would shoot him.

Now that was a Christmas tradition that they always had kept.

The party took place roughly two weeks later, on winter solstice, giving Sherlock just enough time to become fed up with the so-called "Christmas Spirit" that everyone was yammering on about these days. Thank god it would be over soon and everything would go back to normal. Anyway, Mycroft had decided to be generous and not have as huge a party as their parents usually had, only inviting his friends at the Yard and a few business associates. He asked Sherlock to invite any of his friends that he had, but seeing how Sherlock didn't have many friends, the only person that got an invitation was Mike Stanford, who had promptly wrote back explaining how he was spending the time with his family. So far, it looked like a dull evening for Sherlock. At least he would get caught up on his reading for his literature course.

Mycroft had done the decorating for the event, which meant that what areas were decorated were immaculate. Lace and tinsel and fake snowflakes hung in every window and in various places of the ceiling, causing light to bounce and shimmer through every room when the sun was up. Every room was a horde of snow globes and wooden Santas, kept company by the rather alarming throw pillows with the "jolly elf's" face plastered upon them. Tables were set up in the kitchen and living room full of food and punch drinks, although plenty of room was left for people to bring their own foods as well. Sherlock felt suspicious that there was alcohol in one of the punch bowls, but didn't ask. He wanted as little to do with this party as possible.

The "festivities" commenced straight up at 7 o'clock when Lestrade and Donovan arrived at their door, all smiles and terrible Christmas sweaters. Sherlock could hear the "Merry Christmas" cheers all the way across their apartment in his bedroom. It nearly made him gag. Pretty much everyone had arrived by 7:30, and the Christmas classics started thumping their way into even the deepest parts of Sherlock's mind palace, making his teeth rattle in his skull in the process. Finally, he was desperate for any distraction from the dull, scratching music, and came out of his bedroom to drown it out with the talking of the people who had arrived at the party.

Sherlock was out for less than five minutes before he wanted to murder someone. Not many people had recognized him yet, but there was enough "cheer" in the air to literally choke a donkey, so Sherlock was beginning to come to his wits end. After ten minutes, there was a knock at the door, only adding a small noise to the hubbub thrumming around the walls of the small apartment. Honestly, nothing could really be heard anymore, so it was a miracle the door was opened at all. The detective had happened to be standing next to the door when the knock sounded through the din, and that was likely the only reason the person on the other side was let in.

Everything in the room froze when Sherlock opened the door. His blood started pumping faster through his veins, mind spinning to a crashing halt as the rest of his body sped up everything it was doing. John stood on the other side of the doorway, smiling kindly up to the younger Holmes brother. He was wearing a soft blue sweater, with a strand of embroidered Christmas lights around the collar, with a pressed pair of trousers and shined shoes. He had dressed up for the evening, considering how usually he arrived in jeans and penny loafers, and that fact alone made Sherlock's heart race. His mind tried to tell him that there was no way John had dressed up for him, but his heart wouldn't believe it, something that he really hated about every time John was over. He wasn't in control when he was here.

"Evening, Sherlock. Merry Christmas." John's voice shook the taller out of his daze, bringing the world back into spinning again.

"Good evening, John. Merry Christmas." That was probably the first time he had said that to anyone in years. Sherlock held the door open enough for John to come inside, closing it after him and directing him to where the majority of the party was taking place. Suddenly, the noise of the party wasn't so bad anymore, especially when Sherlock caught a whiff of John's cologne, the smell nearly making his knees buckle with how wonderful it was. A soft pink covered John's face, but Sherlock thought it was because of the cold outside and definitely not for the same reason Sherlock's cheeks were full of color. Not that Sherlock was blushing, because he was definitely perfectly fine. And not feeling a bit homosexual at the moment. He was sure he felt lightheaded from all the people in the room. Yes, that was it.

"Ah, John, glad you finally could join us!" Mycroft smiled at him, eyes casually (and perhaps sluggishly) going between the two students. "And you managed to drag my brother from his room. Impressive."

John didn't mention that Sherlock had opened the door for him and thus was already out of his room, and sat down next to his friends. Sherlock went over to the food that was spread out over the table and started his plate, sticking close to John because he liked the way he sounded when he was relating stories. No one really seemed to notice or mind, which worked to his advantage.

The party seemed to pass quickly after that, and before long the few people Mycroft had invited from work had gone on good terms, most likely meaning a promotion in Mycroft's immediate future. After that, people gradually began to filter away until there were only a few left, mainly Mycroft's closest friends. Lestrade and Donovan were of course among those who stayed, along with John and Anderson, the latter Sherlock had hoped would leave. However, Anderson had apparently agreed to drive home with Donovan and Lestrade, so it only made sense that he would be staying. Sherlock on any other occasion would have been repelled back into his room by that, but John's presence tonight was enough to keep the younger out with the rest of them.

"Shall we play a few games?" Donovan suggested, giggling just afterwards in a higher pitch than Sherlock had ever heard her speak in. It seemed that everyone except Sherlock and Lestrade (even Mycroft) had been partaking in the remarkable variety of alcohol that had been a big hit among the non-designated drivers tonight. As a result, the group was brought back down into their mental teenage years, something they hadn't exactly all left behind yet anyway.

"What game?" Anderson asked, leaning on Donovan and nearly making her fall over. His words were slurred, and Sherlock made a mental note to call him anonymously tomorrow to be present for the hangover.

"I was th-*hic*-thinking truth or dare~." John grinned at Donovan's words, leaning sideways towards Sherlock until the other gently nudged him back upright.

"Sounds good."

"I agree."

"Encore!"

So, it was settled that they were going to spend the rest of the night playing petty games. Sherlock was seriously considering leaving now, but John was clinging to his arm in an effort not to fall (even though they were all sitting), so he figured there would be no harm in staying. The game started innocent enough, asking small truths like _What did you have for breakfast_ or _Who was your first kiss_ and lame, boring things like that, but the truths eventually became more risqué, and the dares more intimate. This wasn't Sherlock's area of interest, but he would be lying if he said it wasn't intriguing.

"O-ok…" Anderson started, after a very brutal dare of downing an entire beer without taking a breath and ended in most of the contents spilling all over the floor. "John Watson, truth or dare?"

John rolled his head to look at Anderson, grinning before pouting in concentration. "Truth… Yeah, truth."

"First time either kissing or having sex with a man." Sherlock snapped to attention, looking between Anderson and John. The blonde had said on several occasions since they met that he was not gay, so the fact that Anderson would even mention it was something interesting. It was something that Sherlock didn't even let himself think about since it seemed to have no chance of actually coming true.

"Never had sex with a man~. Thought about it, but never have. Or are you talking about dreams…?"

"Dreams count!" Donovan piped up, laughing and draping her arms over Anderson's shoulders.

"Well, I've been having a few wet dreams lately with a man I recently met… Well, I say recently, but it has really been about a couple of months. It's nothing weird or anything… In real life he's not interested, but just every once in a while I dream about him having his way with me~." John drawled some of the syllables out, resting his head against Sherlock's shoulder and hiccupping softly. Said detective gently pushed John's head back up again. He was starting to struggle to not be turned on by these advances, if that's what you could call them, and was trying hard to not dwell on the fact that John had not only admitted to being attracted to men during this conversation, but also had already been having wet dreams about one. No doubt John and the man he was dreaming about would be dating soon… There was the sharp taste of disappointment in Sherlock's mouth when he thought that, but he didn't let it show.

"Having his way? You mean that he's fucking you in your dreams?"

"Mmhm! Apparently quite good at it too. I usually wake up in wet sheets."

Sherlock didn't want to hear this. He didn't want to know who John thought about fucking, but god he really liked the mental image of John sprawled out, flushed and naked and aroused, just waiting for Sherlock to fill him up and bring them both to new levels of bliss. The thought had the student shifting in his trousers, trying not to make the forming tent obvious to anyone, especially the still-sober Lestrade. By the time Sherlock came back to attention, they had moved on with the game, and Donovan was answering some question about her current love interest that John had asked.

The game continued, and after a bit Sherlock received his first ask. It took him by surprise for a moment, since he had been merely observing until then, but it wasn't hard to figure out which option he was going to choose.

"Dare."

"Hmmm… Well, seeing how John already is practically in your lap, I dare you to try to make him come in his pants just by touching him." Donovan had been the one to ask, and smirked as she slurred out the words of the dare. Sherlock's face instantly flared up a dark red, eyes darting to John who was staring right back up at him. His eyes said that he was curious about if Sherlock was going to do it, along with a little horny, but most of all to Sherlock they were drop dead sexy. Had John's eyes always been that sexy? Of course they had, this was John Watson. Still, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to move, frozen in place.

John took this as a sign to get things started himself, pulling himself fully into Sherlock's lap. A hand traced the stubble on the detective's face, making Sherlock shudder violently, and there were lips just next to his ear whispering drunken slurs to him.

"Hmm, I bet you could make me come by talking to me. Or I could do you… Do you want me, Sherlock? Do you want to know what it feels like inside?" Sherlock bit his lip, his growing erection pressing up into John's arse, and he was very close to losing it. Still, Sherlock had to power through his embarrassment if the dare would come anywhere close to completion. Not doing it would simply make John remember, where going along with this would probably cause less damage overall.

"The idea's for me to get you to come, John, not the other way around~. But maybe you would like me to come inside you. Hmm, would you John? Would you like to know how I'd make you scream?" Sherlock wasn't sure how to dirty talk, but judging by the soft groan he got from John, he was doing something right. He also had no idea what any of this was supposed to feel like (considering that, shockingly, he was a virgin), but that seemed a minor detail at the moment. The younger gulped softly, his hands coming up to rest uncertainly on John's waist. There was a snicker in front of him, reminding him that they weren't alone here. However, John seemed to have forgotten that detail, as he looped his arms around Sherlock's neck and drew his attention back to him.

"I doubt you could do such a thing, Mr. Holmes. You don't seem like the kind that knows how to do that."

"I'm full of surprises." Sherlock whispered. He had been keeping his voice low enough to only be heard by John, but the elder didn't do the same courtesy, speaking in a normal voice.

"I'm sure you are. If I had my way with you, that wouldn't be the only thing you'd be full of."

"Oh? You think you could take control of me, John? I can be quite stubborn when I want to be, believe it or not."

John smirked, shifting on Sherlock's lap and making him bite his lip. "I believe it. I bet you wouldn't even let me think of getting inside your tight arse until you've ravished me beyond words."

Sherlock chuckled lowly. "You said it, not me."

"Are you two actually going to do something, or is John going to come from a bit of dirty talk?" Lestrade's voice came from a space behind John, somewhere Sherlock couldn't see, but it made both of them blush none the less. Sherlock looked up to John, and vice versa, but they both knew that whatever attraction they felt towards one another was still too young for this step. Sighing and turning his head away, Sherlock pushed John off of his lap.

"No, I don't think I can do it… I'm sure John's had too many ladies to come from touching anyway. If you'll excuse me…" Sherlock rose and left, trying to walk normally with an erection and able to feel eyes on his back. Most of them were surprised or unamused, but it was impossible to mistake the one that was composed of pure longing for the detective to turn back around.

Within the next few hours, Mycroft was seeing his friends off at the door, walking in front of the others with John as they headed that way. Sherlock, hearing their departure, decided to come back out and see John one last time before the night drew to a close. He had long since taken care of the little "issue" in his bedroom, which only made him regret more that he hadn't stayed out and tried to get John closer to completion. At least his noises would have given his imagination something to work with. Anyway, Sherlock was back out of his room and hovering in the doorway to the entryway as Mycroft was waiting for everyone to put on their jackets and shoes.

"Oh, Mycroft, looks like you'll have to give John a little present tonight!" Donovan cooed, giggling before pointing over the pair that were in the doorway together, waiting. Both of them looked up, then paled as they saw what the detective was pointing at. Hanging above them, white berries shimmering in the crystalline air of a night right before Christmas, was a big, fat, bushy clump of mistletoe. Both men turned beet red and took a step away from each other, but the other drunkards were already set on their scent.

"Come on, Mycroft! It's tradition!"

"Can't walk away from a mistletoe kiss."

The banter ensued to be more brutal than Sherlock had imagined, but he remained silent. He mentally begged his brother not to go through with it. Lestrade was standing next to the younger in the doorway, his face slightly red and his jaw set hard. Sherlock had always thought that Lestrade and Mycroft were a bit more than friends, but this was a friction none of them had even seen coming.

It took a minute, but eventually Mycroft and John started shuffling back towards each other, realizing that if they didn't go through with it they were never going to get to leave. The calls from the people around them quieted down, leaving the pair staring at each other in flustered silence. Finally, Mycroft leant down slowly, his arms tucked tight against his sides. John leant up, eyes closing as a red blush spread over his face.

_No, no, no!_

Their lips met, and it was almost possible to hear the blood draining out of Sherlock and Lestrade's faces. No, this wasn't how it was supposed to be… They were kissing the wrong person, dammit! Mycroft was never meant to touch John's mouth in any way! That would be like Sherlock making out with Lestrade! But, no matter how wrong it seemed, Sherlock's brother did indeed have his lips on John, even if it was a tight, forced kiss. The two stayed joined for a moment, relaxing only minimally before breaking away. Cheers and hoots broke from the other drunks, while four collective souls were as silent as the snow falling outside. John looked to Sherlock and Sherlock looked away, having already seen enough of his red face for a bit. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy John blushing, but right now he didn't like the cause.

Sherlock stayed frozen in the doorway as John left, not even looking up when Lestrade walked by and out the door, barking at Donovan and Anderson to follow without even looking at Mycroft. It seemed both the Holmes brothers were going to be depressed tonight, as the elder took his time closing the door and locking it to his specifications.

After a few moments of silence, Mycroft pushed away, the events having sobered him up slightly.

"Well, I should be off to bed… Goodnight, Sherlock." Mycroft passed by and Sherlock nodded his goodnight. The younger then locked his knees, staring at the ceiling and not moving until the first rays of the early morning sun danced through the stained glass of the door.

There was little memory of the later hours of the Christmas party in anyone except Sherlock, Lestrade, and Mycroft. Even John himself didn't remember the kiss or Sherlock's dared advances. That was probably for the best though, Sherlock decided, as it put no budding friendships or relationships in harm's way. Of course, Lestrade was still angry with Mycroft, but the two sorted the issue out without Sherlock's assistance, so there was next to nothing that he knew (or wanted to know) about how they went about mending the tear. Though he did find it fascinating that they were actually becoming closer than ever after the accident. Something had shifted between them, but once again that wasn't Sherlock's place. Mycroft's love life really wasn't any business of his.

John started coming over a lot more after the party, and Sherlock feared for a moment that his brother had learned about his little crush. Luckily, he then realized that he didn't really care, especially not since he had Mycroft's new little relationship with Lestrade to hold over his head. It was a bit surprising to Sherlock, actually, that the two were so quickly together. It had looked as if the Christmas party would break the two of them apart, but apparently it only brought them together harder than ever. Still, blackmail was blackmail. And only recently did it get Mycroft all worked up, so it worked out for Sherlock all the better. However, if Mycroft did know about Sherlock's feelings, he didn't let on, and thankfully didn't tip off John about that fact either. The aspiring doctor had started coming over for more than just game night now. Four times a week nowadays, John and Mycroft were sitting on the couch, either watching telly together or playing some game. Sherlock lost track of which games, since his focus was always on the person playing and not the game itself. The visits became more and more frequent, until Sherlock started to wonder why Mycroft even bothered sending John home. The blonde was here all the time. But the younger wasn't complaining, simply happy to watch how John moved and spoke and everything else about him, letting his mind toy with different ideas of what they could do.

Sherlock was nearly always in the room when John came over, but hardly spoke. John spoke, of course, but Sherlock didn't always respond. Sometimes he would give a brief response, but that was it. He wasn't about to give Mycroft the satisfaction of knowing he made Sherlock interact with someone, and one of his friends at that. Eventually, though, he began to engage John in conversation. It began as just in the short times when Mycroft had to leave the room. _How was your day? How's the studying going? You didn't tell me your family wintered in France._ Soon these little exchanges grew into full-out discussions about any wide variety of subjects. And, little by little, Sherlock found himself wishing that he and John were more than this. More than just friends. Not even friends, really. He wanted to be more than just John's best friend's brother.

Four months after their first meeting, Sherlock was certain that he was in love with John Watson. He caught himself staring sometimes as the elder spoke, snapping out of it just in time to answer some question that John might have asked while he had drifted off into a daydream. The more they spoke, the more they learned about each other. Sherlock learned that John had indeed been wanting to join the army, and that his sister had started drinking recently, and that he had had a cat when he was little, but it had run away from home, and an infinite number of more things. Sherlock had no idea an individual could be so complex. In return, Sherlock told everything to John. He told him about his life, what he was studying, a very thorough list of everything Mycroft did that annoyed him, his first and most recent cases and how he solved them (John especially liked hearing those). He told him everything, except about his feelings towards him.

Mycroft at first hadn't minded that his brother was conversing so much with his friend, but quickly became less tolerant. John even noticed that as time went on, Mycroft glared a lot more at Sherlock and found bogus reasons to have him leave the room. Sherlock wasn't sure what to expect. Five months after John first came over to the Holmes's apartment, the unthinkable happened.

"John is coming over in half an hour. You are not welcome to join us." The older Holmes brother didn't look up from his paper as he spoke, monotone as always. Sherlock froze in his chair, staring unbelieving at Mycroft over his uneaten lunch.

"Excuse me?"

"You are not welcome to join us. I want you to stay in your room until he leaves."

If Sherlock had been holding anything, he would have dropped it in his shock. What did Mycroft mean, no allowed out? Was he not going to let him see John again? Would Sherlock be able to handle that? And where was this even coming from? It was so sudden that it had Sherlock reeling, something he had never remembered doing before.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that you had control over my actions."

Mycroft had a stiff look on his face, almost glaring in his smile at his brother. "I don't. But John is one of my best friends, and best friends are supposed to talk to one another. With you there, I can't get a word in edgewise. So, if you do not kindly remove yourself from our chats and meetings in the living room, I will not so kindly remove all interaction that John has with this house, his current phone, and with the university, and thus with you. Do I make myself clear?"

Sherlock glared hard at his brother, feeling his face flush in anger. How dare he try to take John away from him? No doubt Mycroft had the power now that he was moving up through the government, but he was his friend too! And why did he bring up the university? He and John had no corresponding classes, although every once in a while he noticed him walking through the halls. After weighing his options, Sherlock found that if he decided to stay, that would actually end up hurting John's studies and life. So, the younger slumped back into his chair, pouting at the fridge.

"Fine… Have it your way."

Mycroft smiled tightly, sipping his tea once again and returning to his paper. Suddenly finding that he had no appetite anymore, Sherlock got up wordlessly and left to his room, more or less slamming the bedroom door behind himself.

That night was the hardest Sherlock had had in a long while. He could hear John's voice through the hall asking where the taller was, and Mycroft explaining gently that Sherlock didn't want to intrude on their time anymore. That's when the realization dawned on him that this wasn't just for the night. Sherlock wasn't going to be allowed to see John again unless he wanted the other to be moved to another school and potentially mess up any chance he had with him to begin with. And Mycroft, being who he was, would probably not hesitate to take his threatened actions to the finish if Sherlock so much as went to the bathroom while they were here. He would probably never get to see John again, ever. Not even so much as a simple text.

For the first time Sherlock could ever remember, he rolled onto his stomach on his bed, and cried.

It was another month before Mycroft said it was ok for Sherlock to join them again. Sherlock was stunned, but didn't hesitate to agree and almost even thanked him. Almost. He wasn't that low yet. Ok, he was, but he wasn't going to admit it. All that mattered was that he was going to get to see John again. From what Sherlock could tell, Mycroft was doing some kind of experiment with the two of them, but the younger couldn't have been bothered to care. He'd do anything Mycroft asked of him at this point as long as he got to see the object of his obsession.

John came again that night, as was his usual pattern of coming over. This time, Sherlock was sitting in the living room with Mycroft when he arrived, a smile lighting his face as John walked in. It had been a while since he had seen his face… He catalogued the features more distinctly than he had the last time they had met, etching them into an entire wall in his mind palace in case Mycroft decided that he had changed his mind. He then took in the rest of the student, memorizing everything. Gray jumper, jeans, polished shoes, phone in right pocket, gold plated watch on the left arm, that patched jacket he always wore, slight dir-

John grinned when he saw Sherlock sitting there, a smile that stayed there the entire night. Sherlock's mind came to a halt so fast he needed airbags, gulping slightly. Had his smile always been that perfect?

"Hey Sherlock. I haven't seen you in ages. Where have you been?"

Sherlock shrugged, feeling incredibly light. "Studying hard. I missed these meetings, though."

"So have I."

And that's how the night started. By the end, Sherlock was honestly scared that Mycroft would ban him from seeing John again. The older sibling didn't get to say a single syllable the entire night. Neither John nor Sherlock cared, talking and laughing and sharing the stories and events that had happened over the last month. There was something different, though… There was tension. It wasn't awkward tension, more like a heavy lust that hung in the air and wouldn't dissipate even with the most innocent of subjects. It was like they were both hungering for one another, absolutely famished after having spent that time apart, and Sherlock had the nagging sensation that Mycroft had planned this.

John still came over every day, it seemed, and Sherlock made a point not to miss a single meeting. Every movement of either boy was observed by the other when they were in the same room. Every hand passing through hair was watched, every flirtatious smile was followed by the wetting of lips, and every inch closer was returned with a dusting of pink on cheeks. It was toxic and addictive. Sherlock couldn't get enough of it. He wanted more, needed more, needed the friction of their souls crashing together. He wanted more of the laughing and the smiling and the slight touches that were more brushing of skin, but were touches none the less. Sherlock said he never drank, but he was thirsting for every drop of John. He wanted to devour him and tear him apart so that he could put him back together. He wanted them to belong to each other.

Sherlock was no love expert, but he had a feeling that John wanted the same thing. The lingering looks, frequent locking of eyes, and chewing lightly on his fingers as Sherlock was relating a story was more than enough evidence. Not to mention that they drove Sherlock insane. But he couldn't be sure…

Seven whole months had passed since Sherlock had first met John. Seven months of sexual frustration and distance and craving. The shift in their relationship happened seven months in, on a night that at first seemed completely normal. There was a storm raging outside, so hard that Sherlock was sure a branch from a tree in the park three blocks over had hit his window from the wind. It was the kind of storm that caused power outages, and that prevented cabs from running as thickly as normal.

"Ugh, I don't want to get a cab in this weather…" John was standing in the parlor next to the window, watching the rain fall horizontally and the trees bend sideways in an attempt to shield themselves from the wind.

"You're welcome to stay here." Mycroft stated, sitting across the room with his nose buried in a newspaper. Lestrade was sitting opposite the man, and looked up at the pair before back down to his novel.

"No, I have to get home. I put on a roast this morning that I need to turn off before it burns."

Sherlock turned off the burner on the experiment he was doing in the kitchen, leaning around the wall to stare at the older male. "I'll take you. It's time to take the car out, anyway. Mycroft refuses to drive it. Apparently it's not fit for someone of such stature."

Mycroft ignored the jest, although he tensed visibly, causing Sherlock to chuckle as he took off his goggles.

The car in question was an old Ford Fiesta that Mycroft had bought the day he moved out of their parent's house. When he had bought the car it had been a bright blue, but time and the London weather had slowly degraded it to a dark blue-ish gray that was speckled with rust. All in all, it was something Mycroft now wouldn't be caught dead in, which of course meant that Sherlock had insisted that they keep it. For the occasional time they needed to drive out of the city, of course. And there was a lot for parking right next to the flat, so it was no trouble.

Within a few minutes, Sherlock and John were battling the rain and wind to John's apartment on the other side of the city. The radio was on and playing some rock station, but apparently John liked it because he was singing along to every song that came on. Sherlock didn't mind at all.

The wind had stopped by the time Sherlock and John arrived at the apartment building, although it was still raining on the roof and windshield.

"Well, here we are…" Sherlock stated softly. John nodded, glancing out the window before looking back to Sherlock. The brunet turned off the engine, sitting back into his seat and turning his head to John. His eyes grazed hungrily up his body, from his waist up even though Sherlock had been looking at him back at his apartment. He memorised every crease in his shirt, every speck of lint, and every shadow that settled into John's tempting neck.

"Yeah, thank you…"

The two didn't move a muscle, their eyes meeting and sending a jolt through both of them. Neither made a move to get out of the car either, which was the restraint that caused the rest of the evening to fall into place.

And now we reach the part of the story where we're caught up. Anything after this point is full of uncertainty. Sherlock's flashback was over, and now there was nothing to but move forward in his story. He didn't know if John would react well to what he was about to do, but that was for the future to write itself in. For now, Sherlock let his heart take over his mind for the first time in his life. John was an abyss of firsts for Sherlock, and now was not a time that the younger was going to break that pattern.

"Sherlock…" John's voice was little more than a whisper, just barely audible above the pattering of rain on the car roof.

Sherlock didn't answer, his eyes staring intensely at his passenger with all the restrained lust he had tried to hold back in front of Mycroft for the past 7 months. His mind was buzzing with everything that was happening, trying to remember every single detail of what was leading up to this, and how John responded to different things. Sherlock wanted to make sure he did this right.

The brunet slowly let his hand slip onto John's thigh, never taking his eyes away from the older. A shiver ran through the blonde, and his cheeks turned an absolutely delicious shade of red. Sherlock licked his lips, feeling his heart start pounding as he shifted closer. John responded surprisingly well, shifting his way closer to Sherlock as well, and if there wasn't the center divider between them their legs would most likely rub against one another.

Tension hung in the air like a thick curtain, making the fact that Sherlock and John were still separate from one another unbearable. The younger wanted to have John as his own, wanted to touch that promising, soft skin that was no doubt in abundance beneath that jumper. He wanted to taste what his tongue was like, and own every ounce of him for himself. It frightened Sherlock, letting go of his control like that, but it was something he was used to. Ever since the Christmas party he was out of control with his obsession with John. There was nothing he could do.

"John." Sherlock's voice was easily half an octave lower, making the other male shudder violently. Ok, so John liked the voice… Well, that was good. Sherlock intended to use it.

"What's wrong? Are you cold?" The detective leaned in slightly, his hand slowly tracing up the inside of John's thigh until the other was very nearly squirming under him.

"C-cold? No…" There was something John left off, but Sherlock heard it loud and clear anyway. _I'm not cold, but I won't complain if you want to heat me up._

There was a gap in the air between them, but John had leaned towards his friend so that their breath was mingling and giving each of them a delicious sample of what the other tasted like. Sherlock had kissed someone before, but this was completely new. The build-up, the hot breath fanning out and dissipating over his face, the unbearable want to simply crush their lips together but being too scared to mess something up to actually do it. It was intoxicating, more so than any drug Sherlock had ever taken part in. He needed the relief that only John could bring him. He wanted him so badly that he was already having to shift in his trousers, a little shocked since nothing had turned him on this quickly before.

Sherlock moved slowly, just nudging their noses together, but John was having none of that. His eyes clouded over in lust as he shoved his face forward, connecting their mouths so forcefully that the breath was knocked out of Sherlock. The younger responded desperately, pressing back and greedily sucking on John's lower lip. It was desperate, wet, and sloppy snogging, meant simply to get rid of this tension they had been building since Christmas. Sherlock loved it. Nothing he had ever felt before compared to this, compared to John, and he wasted no time in shoving his tongue into John's mouth, which led to a completely different sensation. Their lips melded together in a perfect dance, still fast and hard but graceful and meaningful none the less. John was easily accepting the penetration of his mouth, and Sherlock was melting under how fucking good he felt. He tasted like tea and jam and Old Spice and every other thing that Sherlock had come to associate with him over the past 7 months. And apparently the other was enjoying it too, because the blonde moaned hotly around Sherlock's tongue. John brought his own tounge into play, swirling and twisting around with Sherlock's in a way that was much too good for this to be his first time. Within minutes, both boys were hot and hard as they parted for air.

"Oh my god…" John gasped for breath, and Sherlock smirked, taking in John's appearance. The aspiring doctor looked like he was still in bliss, tied between lust for more and shock in what had just happened. "Where did you learn to kiss like that?"

"Just because I don't have your reputation with girls, doesn't mean I'm completely ignorant in that area." Sherlock's voice dripped with lust and flirt, resting his forehead high against John's.

"Apparently not… Although, practice does have its virtues." John tilted his head back, connecting their lips for the second time that night. Sherlock froze for a split moment, an ounce of panic flooding through him as he forgot that they could do this now. Before he had time to think about their changed relationship, his eyes practically rolled back in his head as John traced his tongue over his bottom lip, tangling his hand into the younger's shaggy hair to pull him closer than before.

This kiss was slower, more intimate, but neither boy cared all too much. They just wanted to indulge in each other, taste their essence and try to memorize their flavor before this night had to end. John seemed to notice how well Sherlock responded to his touch (the younger currently being nearly boneless and moaning shamelessly from his hair being petted like that of a lover) and brought his other arm to wrap around Sherlock's neck. The brunet took this as a sign to heat things up a bit, and nearly came out of his seat in his attempt to press John backwards. The doctor pressed back into his seat backing before surging forward, groaning lowly and nipping at Sherlock's lip harshly, but the detective loved it. They battled like this for a few minutes, bodies moving against one another in attempt to get more, feel more, and maybe even get a bit of friction where their erections were starting to become "raging" instead of just "hard". By the time they had to part for air again, their lips were swollen and as red as rubies. But Sherlock wasn't satisfied, latching his mouth onto John's neck and sucking just hard enough to make a faint mark. The moans that followed were far from discouraging, so Sherlock kissed his way around and did it again on the front of John's throat. It seemed kissing ranked pretty high in John's idea of a turn on, because the elder's hips bucked slightly once, before his face flared up in a blush so deep that even his ears turned red.

"S-Sherlock… Are we really doing this…?"

Sherlock looked up to John with his stormy eyes, an answer just below the surface along with a pleading question. He wasn't going to push John into this. They had both been pushed too much in their lives, so this was going to be mutual, no matter what they were doing. The doctor hitched a breath, wetting his lips in a way that made Sherlock's body respond positively, and gave his nod of consent. This was going to happen. They were both ready, not to mention desperate for more, and agreed that this wasn't just going to end with snogging in the front seat of Sherlock's car until the rain stopped. For the first time, that idea didn't scare Sherlock at all. He was ready. John was here, giving him the green light, and god dammit Sherlock was flooring the gas!

Many more neck kisses were shed after that, but John stopped the younger before he could make it below his collarbone, finding it hard to speak through his heaving breaths.

"Sherlo-ock… Not here… Please, anywhere else…"

"We're at your apartment."

John froze, his eyes opening wide as he seemed to recall that fact for the first time since they had parked. Then his pupils dilated, making his eyes darker as a lustful grin spread across those kiss-bitten lips. "You're right… We are." It took less than ten seconds to get out of both their seatbelts and fling themselves outside into the pouring rain.

"Just open the door."

"I can't when you're not letting me move…"

"You're not letting yourself move. The keys are already in your hand, just put them in."

"I can't see when you're pressing up against me like that, Sherlock."

"I have a feeling you're good at putting things in without seeing, John."

"Heh, you fucking asshole… Just move already."

Sherlock grinned against John's neck, glancing up at the other's red cheeks as he tilted his head for better access. They had managed to bolt inside John's apartment building, making it all the way up to his apartment door before Sherlock had gone too long without his touch. The result was John's chest being pressed against the hard, cold wood that protected his space from view, a very horny detective pressing into him from behind and grinding softly into his backside. Sherlock traced his tongue over the vein on John's neck, watching how he gasped and nearly dropped the metal objects he held in his quivering hand, desperately trying to find the keyhole.

"I'm not moving, but you better open this door before I start fucking your asshole right here in the hallway." Sherlock had half expected John to find that a little deterring, but the truth turned out to be just the opposite. The elder moaned wantonly and pressed his hips backwards, resting his forehead on the door. A few more glides of his hand and John found the keyhole, haphazardly shoving the metal in and turning until the door opened. The duo tumbled through the gap into John's apartment, tangling together in the process and collapsing to the floor.

Sherlock attempted to get up and close the door, but John had decided that he had gone too long without a little fun of his own. Arms flying around the other's neck, John tugged his companion down and crashed their lips together hard enough to make their teeth clack together. Sherlock grimaced, but John ignored the pain and sucked the other's tongue into his mouth, thrusting his hips up to grind his bulge into Sherlock's belly. The other's hips curled so that their members were rubbing together through their trousers, making both of them groan and buck into each other. Sherlock mapped the inside of John's mouth with his tongue, saturating the muscle with his taste as they kissed on the floor. The moans didn't stop, getting louder each time as they ground their hips together erotically.

Sherlock finally pushed John to the ground and untangled them, standing up before someone walked by in the hallway to see what the source of their noise was. The younger closed the door and made special care to lock it, turning back around to find that John had pushed himself into a half sitting position. His shoulders were hunched as he supported himself with his arms, and his legs had fallen apart to show the delicious tent that was pressing forward away from his body. A pink tongue flicked out to wet scarlet lips, and Sherlock had to lock his knees to not jump him right here and now and have his way with the older boy.

"Like what you see?" John asked suggestively, coyly winking at the taller and nearly making Sherlock come in his pants. The detective blushed a deep red, smirking as he walked in front of John.

"More than you can imagine~." Sherlock held out a hand for the student, helping him up before pulling him close against his chest. The younger was about a head taller than John, and he softly tilted John's head back so their eyes could meet.

"I didn't even know it was possible to want someone this much." Sherlock would have said more, but John apparently had decided that words weren't enough for him at the moment, quickly dragging Sherlock down to kiss him again. It was as feverish and wet as the ones that came before it, but this time the elder took over with force. Tongues meshed and slipped over one another as Sherlock melted, leaning into John and making him tilt back at the waist. The straining in their pants was starting to become unbearable. Hips rolled against hips, neither noticing anymore who started an action as long as it was returned. After a long minute of snogging, Sherlock broke away to gasp for air, his senses going wild around him as his mind tried to understand why all this pleasure was interfering with his deducing of the environment. John didn't seem to mind or notice, running one hand down Sherlock's cheek and tracing his jawline with a finger.

"Bedroom."

The detective didn't need to be told twice.

They never did make it to the bedroom. Well, they did, but it happened much later than they intended.

After John had spoken, he had tried to pull away slightly, much to Sherlock's distress, and lead them to his room. However, Sherlock realized that his body wasn't going to let them be apart that long, and after yet another rigorous snog they both found themselves sprawled out over the blonde's sofa.

"Sherlock…" John breathed, being pinned to the soft couch under the younger's thin, gangly body. Said detective was currently working on a full set of hickies around John's neck, sucking and nipping at each one until they were as red as cherries on snow. Delicious, perfect cherries on the most amazing, beautiful, brilliant snow that ever decided to fall into Sherlock's life. Hands clung onto Sherlock's dark hair, causing it to fray into the disheveled look of a man who was thoroughly enjoying himself with another. And enjoying, Sherlock was. John was releasing the most wonderful, restrained moans he had ever heard, and they turned him on much more than any of the brief amounts of porn he had watched.

The detective left one particularly dark hickey behind John's ear, where the elder had kept making noises and had it nearly impossible for Sherlock to stop sucking on that certain spot. Then he unlatched from his neck, panting and flushed, to support himself on his hands and look down at the man he had wanted so desperately for so long. He was right here for his taking, laid out before him and was nearly begging to be fucked senseless. Sherlock bucked into John's waist, resting their foreheads together and staring lustfully down at the other.

"J-John… You want to do this, right? I don't want to…" Sherlock was cut off by John groaning loudly, arching up into Sherlock and wrapping an arm loosely around his neck.

"I swear to God, if you don't fuck me this instant I'm going chain you up to my bedposts and do it myself on your body."

Sherlock chuckled lowly, grinning to himself. He leaned low, bringing his lips into contact with John's ear as he whispered beneath his breath.

"All in good time, Dr. Watson~."

John moaned at the title, his face becoming red as he sheened over with a light layer of sweat. Sherlock was tired of waiting, sitting up to his knees and quickly fumbling with John's belt. He got it undone, then worked on his own while the other got his trousers and pants off (which was slightly awkward since John's legs were spread with a detective between them, and Sherlock had no intention of moving). Finally, they were left in shirts, which Sherlock proceeded to pretty much tear off of them.

"Sherlock… Wait." John slurred hurriedly, as the younger threw the sweater the aspiring doctor had previously been wearing across the room haphazardly.

"What is it?"

"L-leave yours on…." John smirked up at him, licking his lips slowly as he contradicted his words and started unbuttoning Sherlock's shirt. The younger didn't dare move, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his breathing as the front of his chest was revealed to John. In turn John stared captivate at the exposed skin, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Sweet mother of God. Turquoise eyes flicked back up to sea green ones. Sherlock could easily see the lust there, and suddenly the idea of fucking John while still partly clothed was very appealing. Strangely so, since it shouldn't have mattered… But Sherlock assumed that this was just what having a kink felt like. The brunet ran his hands slowly up the expanse of John's thighs, working up until they teased to area just around his groin.

"You like this, don't you…? You like seeing me half dressed, waiting to be able to fuck you into oblivion. Were you as thirsty for it as I was, John?" Sherlock finally looked down at John's erection, his eyes jolting with sudden lightning upon setting eyes on the heated, firm flesh. It was red on the tip, pink and flushed elsewhere as veins pulsed with an urgent plea to have Sherlock touching them, stroking John's member until he spilled his seed over the both of them. But Sherlock had much better plans in store for them.

The brunet traced a teasing finger up the length of John's member, smirking in satisfaction at the constricted groan that left the elder's mouth. Hips arched into the air, but Sherlock was having none of that. He took his free hand and forcefully pinned John to the couch, leaning over his body so he could whisper in the other's ear.

"Patience, John. You can't have your dessert until you've been satisfied with the entrée~." The words drew an exasperated noise out of John. The blonde tangled one hand into Sherlock's hair, tugging him up more so his mouth could start working on speckling love bites over the pale skin of Sherlock's neck.

Having John's lips and tongue on his body felt much better than he had ever imagined it could. Sherlock moaned roughly, able to feel the shiver the noise sent through John, and wrapped his long fingers fully around John's length. There was a brief pause in the elder's actions, a small moment of sharply inhaled breath at the wave of dopamine being released, before he got greedy. John attacked Sherlock's neck with fervor, drawing out more noises from the detective along with a few more full pumps to his cock. It seemed they were both in heaven, and before long Sherlock was dripping precum onto the fabric of the couch, not even having to look to see that John was the same way.

"John…" Sherlock's baritone rumbled from his chest. The younger placed his free hand on John's shoulder, making him break away from the thoroughly bruised skin of his neck as Sherlock sat up onto his knees again. The sight in front of him nearly drove Sherlock mad. John's legs were spread for Sherlock to fit between them, one arm stretched up above his head while the other rested on his bare chest. The skin there was sweaty from anticipation, and although that may have been the same case with his neck, Sherlock had a feeling that it was saliva that was making the bite marks there gleam. He looked ready for the taking, but nothing compared to the absolute look of pure wantonness portrayed by John's eyes. They were so focused and lustful that Sherlock could almost hear John saying "Fuck me already!" Still, the student was waiting, clay ready to be molded by Sherlock's hands. He was giving Sherlock control of how this played out, of what was going to happen, and frankly that excited Sherlock much more than it should have.

"Y-you…. Lube." John spoke softly, making Sherlock flush and nod quickly. He couldn't believe he had forgotten that. John made a move to sit up, but Sherlock pushed him back down onto his back, leaning down to kiss a line up his chest.

"Where?"

"B-bedroom… Table. L-left…" John seemed to have trouble speaking, but Sherlock had understood enough to piece it together. He licked a long line up to John's collarbone, grinning at the shameless mewl it drew from him before he stood up and bolted towards the hallway. Sherlock had never been to John's apartment before, but it didn't take long at all to find his bedroom nor to locate the lube. It was, as promised, in the left-hand side of the nightstand table. Sherlock didn't even look at his surroundings before he dashed back out of the door, tearing for the couch.

John had barely moved, still flushed and panting by the time Sherlock returned. The younger smiled at how obedient he had been, not even touching himself while Sherlock was gone, even if he had never specified that he should do that. Sherlock crawled back in between John's legs, and the elder instantly pulled him down for another passionate kiss, successfully knocking the wind out of Sherlock and making his head spin.

"G-got the lube…" Sherlock panted for a moment, barely able to move even he wanted to after his greeting. John laughed, subtly pushing Sherlock back into a sitting position and spreading himself out before him.

"Good. I'm hoping you know how to use it." John smirked, looking proud of how he had caused Sherlock to react while still looking completely debauched himself. Luckily, the blush that covered the detective's face was from slight embarrassment and not incompetence.

Sherlock uncapped the lube and poured a decent amount into his hand, swirling it to warm it up before thoroughly coating his fingers. Then he lowered his hand to John's entrance.

"Ready?"

John nodded, biting his lip and shaking as Sherlock slowly pushed one finger inside him. John was hot and tight and getting wet from the lube, and Sherlock was in bliss merely thinking about how that was going to feel around his cock. The elder himself was slightly struggling to accept the intrusion, forcing relaxation upon himself before it eventually became natural. Sherlock eased the digit in and out of the blonde for a long minute, but soon enough John was rocking back down onto the finger, apparently taking a great deal of pleasure in the friction.

Sherlock smiled, adding a second finger to the mix and letting John adjust before seeking out his prostate. The sound John released when it was found was nothing short of glorious. Back arching, John's mouth fell open in pleasure as he moaned loud enough to probably disturb the neighbors, though hopefully not wake them up. Sherlock moaned in return, his erection throbbing painfully as he held back the urge to fuck him senseless already.

John had forgotten the pain when Sherlock touched the sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers, violently jolting back down to try and get more of the delicious feeling. Eventually, Sherlock had to hold his hips still so he could finish the job of preparing him, cooing softly into his ear promises of better things to come.

Three fingers took longer to adjust to, but John was in pleasure much before his walls had loosened because of a few well-aimed thrusts on Sherlock's part. There was nothing quite like bringing this man joy, Sherlock thought. He had never really understood the concept of doing everything in sex simply for the other person's enjoyment, but now he understood completely. He craved it, even.

The gasp of disappointment when Sherlock pulled his fingers out was almost more than he could bear. He fumbled for the lube, making John laugh below him. Sherlock shot him a crooked, sly smile, and John grinned back at him happily. It was the hands-down cutest and hottest thing Sherlock had ever seen. Honestly, John was going to be the death of him…

Somehow, Sherlock managed to get the lube into his hand, and then transferred to his erection. It was cool and wet, but he didn't mind. There was still lube left on his hand after he was completely coated, so he gave John a few encouraging strokes, reveling in his breathless moans. Sherlock was nearly beyond words, trying to hold on to whatever part of his mind hadn't fled him yet, albeit that part being embarrassingly small. There was something about John that just made him forget everything about who he was and what he was doing, and while that drove Sherlock crazy he would have to say it was one of his favorite things about him. No matter how much he cherished his solitude, John made him feel as if he was never alone.

Sherlock had little time to think on all the things that he loved John. Said blonde was currently distracting him from any form of concentration, arching up his body so Sherlock was more or less aligned beneath him.

"S-Sherlock…"

"Oh God, John…" Sherlock tried to steady his rapid breathing, already feeling on edge when they hadn't even done much. The younger sat on one forearm over John, the other arm helping line him up completely. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, his arms going around his torso as he held onto him for dear life. Their eyes met for one short, heated instant before the much anticipated moment they had been building up to since the first day John walked into the room while Sherlock was trying to study.

Sherlock slowly pushed the tip of his erection into John's tight, hot wetness, and instantly had to struggle not to come. It felt a million times better than what he had imagined it would. The brunet slowly worked his way inside, taking minutes to let John and himself adjust before moving half-inches deeper.

"Jo-ohn." Sherlock groaned, breathing hard through his nose. His light olivine eyes opened enough to catch a sight of what John looked like. And what a sight it was indeed. The student's mouth had fallen open in what Sherlock assumed was bliss, eyes closed tighly, chest trembling with the effort of the breaths he was taking. He was hot and sweaty and wanton and looked _so fucking hot!_

"Sherlock…" John's voice was barely more than a whisper, his panting snatching away all words he could have said in that moment. But neither of them needed to talk. They were joined, feeling each other for the first time, and neither had to say anything to know what they were both thinking.

Before much longer Sherlock felt his hips collide with John's, collapsing on top of him so their chests were flush and his face was buried in the blonde's neck. Sherlock shook with the effort to hold on, to not come when John was pulsing around him so nicely. He was so hot and wet and tight…

"Sherlock, are you ok…?" John's voice sounded worried, which made Sherlock chuckle gravely. He was breathing hard against the elder's neck, whimpering ever so slightly.

"F-fine… You feel really good…" Sherlock felt John relax beneath him, though he got no less tight around his cock. At this rate he was going to come instantly. He had heard that virgins always came fast, but he wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

Slowly, Sherlock started to pull out, making John inhale breathlessly. They both moaned obscenely when Sherlock thrust back in, snapping his hips forward to bury himself again. Hips began to move again, slowly finding their rhythm as the detective slipped in and out of the doctor, over and over again. Sherlock was in ecstasy with their moving bodies, the friction between their skins making him heat up to boiling.

The pace slowly increased as they grew more confident. The couch creaked with their efforts, rocking back and forth on the crinkly linoleum as Sherlock began to thrust.

"O-oh my God. Oh God. Oh, Sherlock!" John groaned shamelessly, his eyes slipping closed and his teeth biting his lips as he pressed down onto Sherlock's cock. One of John's hands was tangled in Sherlock's hair, holding him against his neck as his own head fell back in pleasure. The other was clawing at the brunet's back under his shirt, no doubt leaving marks. The noises he was releasing into the air were almost too good to be true. A few times he was probably loud enough for someone to hear, but mostly he sang quiet mewls and groans that were just barely loud enough for Sherlock to indulge in.

Sherlock was going insane. He growled against John's neck, the sharp sensation of his nails sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. He hadn't been aware that it was possible to feel this much pleasure in one act. Harshly, he pulled back from John's neck and pressed their lips together, and the sound of their wet smacking mouths joined the cacophony of sound. His own hands were clutching John's hips, holding them still as he began ramming into his body, pounding into him so that their skin was slapping together, and Sherlock was burying himself impossibly deeper inside his lover.

They weren't going to last. Sherlock was in sensory overload, already delaying his orgasm, and he could feel that John wasn't too far behind him. Bliss found its way into every nook and cranny of his body, and finally it was beginning to hurt too much to hold back any more. Their quick, desperate movements were becoming too much for Sherlock, and John's cries of pleasure finally pushed him over the edge.

Sherlock's orgasm was infinitely better than any he had ever had by his hand, knocking the breath out of his as he reached his peak. He thrust completely inside, stilling as he emptied himself inside John and groaning loudly. He had no time to rest though, because John was so close he nearly screamed in need.

"Sherlock! Don't stop!" John was on the verge of tears, bucking his hips against Sherlock's weak grasp as he struggled for orgasm.

The detective began moving again instantly, pushing himself into oversensitivity as he fought to bring John to this new heaven with him. Luckily, it didn't take long to finish him off, the student arching his back as his orgasm washed over him. John gave strangled moans, tightening around Sherlock enough to prevent him from moving anymore. The breathless brunet looked up as John hit his peak, catching his look of pure bliss as he came messily over his chest. His back stayed arched for a moment before he slumped against the couch.

They stayed like that for a moment, John panting hard on the couch while Sherlock tried to catch his breath over him. Their tired bodies melded against one another, sweaty and sticky with white cum. Sherlock didn't mind though. John didn't seem to mind either. It was heaven, coming off this high together, and the pair couldn't have been happier to just lay like that for a long minute.

Eventually though, Sherlock slipped himself out of John, making the elder twitch and groan. The brunet fell on his side, eyes slipping closed as he felt John move beside him. A moment later there was a soft warmth on Sherlock's chest, making him open his eyes halfway.

"John…" Sherlock received nothing but a hum in return, the elder seemingly more tired than Sherlock himself was. That wasn't too surprising, really. Sherlock wrapped his long arms around the blonde's waist, holding him close to his body, not even caring that they were naked and wet. Honestly he enjoyed it.

After a few minutes, John seemed to regain some of his energy, nuzzling his head up so that he could slip his lips against Sherlock's. This kiss wasn't like the other ones, though. It was slow and soft, a waltz of lips against one another in the post-orgasmic bliss that hung lightly between the pair. It was the kind of kiss that drew people head-over-heels towards each other without them even knowing, sending them crashing into one existence harder than any harsh, fast snog could. It was a kiss that Sherlock had never experienced before, and one that John had certainly never given so deeply. The detective's head was spinning, and if he hadn't been close to sleep a minute ago he probably would be getting riled up once more.

"Sherlock…" John murmured when they parted for air at last. Their eyes opened and met, studying one another for a long moment. The doctor's hands casually made their way up Sherlock's chest, making the younger shiver and smile shakily. "We should go to bed…" John kindly whispered, making Sherlock blush brighter than he would like to admit.

"What about your roast? The one you left on?" Sherlock's memory was slowly coming back to him, reminding him of why exactly he had to take John back in the first place. John chuckled and smirked devilishly.

"What roast?"

Sherlock grinned. So John had planned this all along… Clever. The detective then blushed softly.

"I'm invited to come along, right? To bed with you?"

John laughed, biting his bottom lip in a way that made Sherlock's heart soar.

"Yes, you better come with me. Or else I'll have to have a talk with Mycroft about your manners~."

Sherlock flushed, leaning in to peck John's lips. "I'd prefer if we avoid that conversation."

They untangled themselves from one another, sitting up and climbing off the couch. John rubbed his lower back and Sherlock felt a twinge of guilt. Not that he would take it back for the world. Sherlock grinned at the fresh memory of John moaning underneath him, fishing his phone from the pocket of his trousers before following John's beckoning from the entry to the hallway. When it came to following orders from a naked, well-fucked blonde doctor, Sherlock had a feeling he wouldn't have any problem ever complying.

"What-cha got there?" John asked as he led Sherlock to his bedroom, crawling into bed. Sherlock took in the room for the first time, having been too distracted the first time to look. There was a basket of clothes in the corner full of white shirts and jumpers, reassurance that John was indeed attending a medical college. The furnishings were minimal, but practical, although the desk in one corner of the room was overflowing with papers and empty coffee mugs. Sherlock smiled, finding that the room was so painfully John that it was like being surrounded by the man. It was simple but so full of story and life.

"Phone." Sherlock replied simply, feigning disinterest in his surroundings and focusing on the screen of his smartphone. He jotted out a quick text before setting it down on the bedside table. He climbed into bed afterwards, smiling at John before pulling him close by the waist.

"You sure you're ok with this? You know how hard it is to deal with the Holmes brothers."

John chuckled, snuggling into Sherlock's chest as he pulled the blankets over the both of them.

"I've kinda been dealing with them for 7 months, I think I'll be alright~."

Sherlock phone buzzed, causing him to reach over and grab it. He checked the screen then chuckled, shaking his head as he tossed the rectangle across the room. A soft "bastard' was murmured under his breath before he grabbed John closer, nuzzling into his hair despite the pouting huff he got in return.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing… I just want to sleep now…" Sherlock felt John nod in approval and relax against him. Eyes closed and heart beats began to sync, and slowly the two fell into the first of many blissful sleeps together.

_I'm not coming home tonight. –SH_

_I know. I'm surprised it took you this long to text. Use a condom next time. –MH_

Fin~


End file.
